


Waiting For Someone To Tell You

by helens78



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Bondage, Community: kink_bingo, Dream Sex, Dreams, Established Relationship, F/M, Lingerie, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-08
Updated: 2011-06-08
Packaged: 2017-10-20 05:55:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/209480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ariadne comes to in a nondescript room, bound at wrists and ankles, waiting for Arthur to tell her what's going on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting For Someone To Tell You

After the disorientation wears off, Ariadne spends a few minutes wondering whether she's in her dream this time or Arthur's. She can't reach her totem to check, so she looks around.

Nondescript room, grey walls, modernist bed, nice clean sheets underneath her. The aesthetic says Arthur to her, but then again, she could've been making something nice for him, as a present. Not that she's a bad present in and of herself. She's tied up pretty securely, which Arthur always appreciates, in bed or out. Her hair's loose. She's got a black silk slip on, and--wait, black silk stockings with... she shifts a little, feeling the scratch of lace. Some kind of garter belt. Ha. No way. Arthur's dream for sure.

She glances up at her wrist cuffs. They're very pretty, soft black leather with a little bit of burgundy around the edges just for decoration. They match the ankle cuffs perfectly. She's spread-eagled on a bed, with long leather straps connecting her ankles and wrists to the bedposts, and all in all it's a perfect, lovely, almost catalog image. Which means this dream is Arthur's for sure. Ariadne might have put herself in a nice silk gown, but never stockings, it's too hard to find ones that fit right, and her own cuffs--in dreams and out--are a little less sleek, a little more industrial.

She closes her eyes. _You're lying in a bed_ , she thinks, _and you don't know how you got here. You're waiting for someone to tell you what's going on._

 _What's going on,_ she thinks again, and then she says it out loud: "What's going on?"

The door opens. Was there a door over on that side of the room before? There's one now, and Arthur's standing in the doorway, all neat and tidy, dressed up in a tux. He slips out of his jacket while she watches, and he dangles it off one finger and drapes it over his shoulder.

"Hi," he says.

Hi? That's all he's got?

She raises an eyebrow and waits.

"I've got some water if you'd like it," he tells her, and she looks around, trying to figure out where he's hidden the fridge. The nightstand to her left--it's not a nightstand after all, it's a mini-fridge. (Was it a mini-fridge before? Maybe not; Arthur's gotten really good at sleight-of-hand tricks. Sleight-of-mind tricks. Whatever.)

Arthur heads over to the mini-fridge, opening it up and taking out one of those fancy expensive bottled waters she always sees at the store. Dark blue. Kind of sexy. He reaches into the fridge for a straw, too, and then he uncaps the bottle and drops the straw into it.

He perches on the side of the bed and holds the water out to her. She bends her head up so she can take a drink, and when she's done, he puts the water aside.

"Do you want to know what we're doing here?"

"If you feel like telling me."

He smiles. "How about you tell me? You're the architect."

"I build _cities_ ," she points out. But he's gone over to the closet, where he hangs up his tuxedo jacket and then slips out of his shoes. He takes off his vest, too, and his bow tie, and he unfastens the button at his throat and the one just below it, and then unfastens his cufflinks and sets them carefully on a shelf. When he comes back, he looks just shy of neat--he's still got his belt on, but his collar and cuffs are loose now, and he looks like he's at the end of his day and ready to relax.

He looks her over and nods, and then he climbs between her legs, putting his hands on her ankles as he settles into a kneel.

"We've been way too busy lately," he says. He moves his hands up from her ankles, over her calves, to the backs of her knees, and she shifts a little, enjoying the touch. "I thought we could use some time to reconnect."

"I like your idea of reconnecting," she says. She tries to raise her knees, to part her legs a little further, but there's not much room; she's pretty much at Arthur's mercy.

She licks her lips and squirms a little. There are worse places.

He keeps going, moves his hands up to the tops of her stockings, and then his warm hands are on her bare skin. She moans, squirming more now, and her squirms earn her a smug little grin from him. She stops moving and tilts her head up.

"What?"

"You never can keep still when I'm touching you." He slides his hands up further, under her slip now. She bites down on her lower lip, determined to prove him wrong, but when his fingers curve around her hips, when his thumbs graze back and forth over her hipbones--and she can see the movement under her slip, damn it, but she can't see his hands on her skin, can't watch where he's going to move them next.

"You are such a tease."

"Uh-huh." He grins, and then he moves back, hands sliding down to her knees, out from under her slip, and he shifts his weight and stretches out on his stomach, between her legs, his own legs bent at the knee so he'll still fit on the bed. He toys with the hem of her slip and looks up the bed at her. "Can you lift your hips a little?"

She can, but only for a second. That's enough, though. He pushes her slip up, showing off her legs in those darn stockings of his and that garter belt she doesn't own, either. And she was pretty sure about this before, but now she can see she's not wearing underwear.

Which, given where Arthur's mouth is, she's pretty happy about.

He licks his lips and looks at her, looks between her legs. There's a little bit of a smile on his face, like he knows a secret and he's not telling anybody. And, okay, he knows secrets. He knows a lot of secrets. He knows a lot of _her_ secrets, like how to touch her to make her come apart at the seams, and the fact that she gets impatient when he tries to go down on her; she always wants to skip to the part where he's inside her.

Her eyes go a little wide, and she tugs at her wrist cuffs and her ankle cuffs. " _Oh._ "

"Mmmm," Arthur answers, reaching out with two fingertips, rubbing the inside of her thigh. "I never get to do this as long as I want to."

"Arthur--"

"And you're so pretty." He bends his head down and kisses her inner thigh. "And sexy." He moves over, lips brushing against her outer folds. "And--"

She bites down hard on her lower lip as he gives her a slow, easy lick. Not too gentle or it'd tickle, but not diving in just yet, either. It's just his tongue, moving carefully up and down, teasing her open, tasting her.

She exhales, finally releasing the bite on her lip. The tension eases out of her arms and legs, and both his hands come up to rest on her thighs as she squirms some more, trying to get her legs a little further apart. It doesn't matter; Arthur knows what he's doing, and he's got a rhythm going now, up and down, the warm rough surface of his tongue giving just a little friction to her sensitive skin.

She can feel how wet she's getting, how wet he's making her; she knows if he didn't have her tied down like this, she'd be grabbing him by the hair and demanding he fuck her by now. His tongue dips inside her, then glides back up, and finally makes a long swirling circle around her clit before moving back down.

Fuck, he's serious about this. He's got her tied down, and she can't just pounce him and move on to getting fucked; he's going to be at it for a while.

She closes her eyes and sinks into it, lets herself feel everything. His mouth is warm, his tongue is firm--the pressure's all just right, nothing tickles. She ends up rocking down against his tongue, gasping already. She doesn't think she's close yet, but--

"Arthur!"

He doesn't stop, not at first, but she twists and pulls at her cuffs. "Arthur, wait, I can't--not in a dream, I can't--"

He comes up, licking his lips as he raises his eyebrows at her. "Can't...?"

"I can't come in a dream," she says, trying to catch her breath. "Or I'll wake up."

He grins. "Even under sedation?"

That gives her some pause. "Okay, I've never done that," she admits. "But--I might wake up, okay? So as long as you know..."

"Okay." He smiles. "Can I go back to licking your pussy now?"

If she weren't already flat on her back, she'd go a little weak-kneed, hearing him put it so bluntly. But she nods, and he bends his head down, and just like that, he's back in a rhythm, licking her again, his warm tongue drawing her up to the edge, making her pull against wrist and ankle cuffs, both.

She's close now, she can feel how close, and she tries to press her thighs together to let him know. They're as close as they can get, though, the ankle cuffs holding her in place, so she has to say it. Out loud. "Arthur--God, I'm--please, yeah, close, really close, can I--is it okay, can I--"

He pulls away all at once and smears a kiss against her inner thigh. "Do you have any idea how hot it is when you ask?"

She blinks down at him. "I--no," she says. "How hot is it?"

"It's hot."

She laughs, but she doesn't have enough breath to laugh very hard. "So when we're done here, I'll ask some more."

"Yes," he groans. "Hell, yes."

"But right now--I mean, if I go limp or something--"

There's a glint in his eyes that makes her wonder what exactly a person can do with someone's dream-remnant, once they've woken up. But right now she's got other things in mind, and she rattles her wrist chains. "Damn it! Arthur, come on--"

He grins, and he's back between her legs, faster this time, tongue pushing into her. She gasps, eyes closing again, pulling at her cuffs. Right now those four points of contact feel like all that's holding her down, and as she chases after her orgasm, as his lips and tongue drive her there, she clenches her fists and holds her breath and _yes, yes, yes_ \--

There's a harsh tug at the back of her mind, enough to make her dizzy. But when she opens her eyes again, she's still in the dream-bed with Arthur, still has her wrists and ankles in cuffs.

Arthur's still between her legs, but he's giving her a minute to catch her breath.

"Still here," she pants.

"I can see that."

"You think I'll stay here if you make me come again?"

He grins. "One way to find out."

The second time takes a little longer. It takes a little more care, a little more finesse. She sinks back into her pillows and thinks about the setup, about how close they can get to this outside dreamspace. Arthur probably has the cuffs and has just never told her; the straps, too. She can get the clothes--even the stockings and the garter belt. Arthur's got the tux.

So it'd be her bed, or his, just like this, outside the dream. And he'd do it just this way, but he wouldn't be afraid of waking her; he'd just go at her, full on, licking her clit, sucking on it--and as soon as she thinks it, he's doing it, sucking gently, rubbing his tongue against it. She moans, turns her head to the side, and then she's coming again, spinning, a moment of vertigo so rough she's sure she's going to wake up in a chair.

She doesn't. She tilts her head up and sees Arthur, and she tugs at her cuffs just to make sure they're all still there. The leather catches her wrists and her ankles, and she exhales softly, falling back into the bed.

The vertigo doesn't matter. She's there now, right at that point where she can do this again, and again, and all it takes is Arthur being willing to push her. And right now, between the cuffs and his position between her legs, his mouth on her pussy, his hands on her thighs, she's pretty sure he's willing to lick her for as long as she can take it.

The next time she comes, it's incredible--she floats on it so long that it really does feel like she's turning around over and over again, and now she's almost getting used to it, almost growing accustomed to that space between dreaming and waking. She rides the wave all the way back up, and when she's back, she looks up at her right wrist. The cuff's attached to the leather strap with a simple clip, and she's bendy; she twists her hand around and tries to pull the release. A few minutes, maybe, and she'd have it, but Arthur beats her to it, crawling halfway up her body and snapping the release open so she can have her arm free.

"Are you all right?" he asks, suspended above her.

She grins and tousles his hair. "Yeah. I just wanted to be able to do this." And she grabs a handful of his hair and starts pressing him back down. He laughs as he goes, not struggling at all.

When he gets going again, she helps him with the rhythm, dragging his head forward, rocking up as much as she can. He catches on, figures out the pressure she needs, the way she wants him to lick her, and she's right there, needing it, struggling to get it, coming _hard_ \--

"--oh, _fuck_ ," she gasps, jerking upright as she lurches out of the dream. She's tingling all over, nipples hard, pussy aching, underwear uncomfortably damp. There's just her and Arthur and the PASIV, thankfully; no one else around.

It takes her a few minutes to come fully back to herself; her body's still aching from that last orgasm, and she's breathing really hard. By the time she gets the IV out and runs her hands through her hair, she's just about decided that maybe standing wouldn't be the most difficult thing ever.

She glances over at Arthur, who's still deep in dreamspace, fast asleep. He's not snoring, which is something.

As she watches, he exhales, and she recognizes the signs of him coming out of it nice and easy--the slow, sleepy blink of his eyes; the way he tilts his neck just a little from side to side. She crosses her arms over her chest as he takes the IV out and applies a little pressure to the inside of his elbow.

"Did you have fun in there after I was gone?"

He glances over at her and grins. "You don't think I'd kiss and tell, do you?"

She thinks that over for a second and shakes her head. Probably better if she doesn't know; it's not like she's told him about every dream she's ever had.

"Do you actually own those cuffs?" she asks, instead.

He grins at her. "I'll show you."

She has to lean on him as they pack up and leave, but she's pretty sure he doesn't mind.

 _-end-_


End file.
